


No Surrender, No Defeat

by Chash



Series: Weary With Right Angles [7]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 05:56:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7879132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Octavia was always more curious about Bellamy's soulmate than her own. It seems unfair that she gets to meet hers first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Surrender, No Defeat

**Author's Note:**

> There are references to spousal/child abuse in Lincoln's backstory in particular, and he also expresses some concern about age dynamics.

When Octavia says she's a lot more interested in Bellamy's soulmate than her own, he rolls his eyes.

"Of course you are," he says. "I'm getting mine tomorrow, you're getting yours in like six years." He pauses. "If I get one."

She rolls her eyes right back at him. "Of course you're getting one, Bell."

"Not everyone does. Don't get your hopes up. I'm not."

"Of course you're not," she says. Bellamy can't believe he's going to get a soulmate for the same reason she can't believe he's wouldn't; he _needs_ someone's name on his skin to be sure he really deserves them, and she's sure that person is out there. For all he's a giant weirdo dork of a brother, he's also, well--

At twelve, Octavia is finally starting to realize her life should be a lot worse than it is, and that Bellamy is the reason it's not. He's already fretting about leaving her behind next year, coming up with contingency plans to make sure nothing bad will happen to her. It's not what other people's brothers do; it's not what anyone does.

He had better have a soulmate. She refuses to live in the world that lets him think he doesn't deserve anyone.

"I bet she's pretty," Octavia says.

"Did you hear about the guy in London whose soulmate was already married to his mom? How awkward would it be if Kevin was my soulmate too?"

"It's not _Kevin_. Stop reading those articles. I bet half of them aren't even true."

"Why wouldn't they be? Getting a name isn't some magical guarantee you're going to be happy, O. Look at Mom."

Octavia tends to read the _nice_ stories about soulmates: best friends who promised to marry each other if they didn't have soulmates or hated them and woke up to find out they were soulmates themselves, people who didn't think they had names and found they were a place they couldn't see, people who had given up on ever meeting each other and finally did at forty, fifty, sixty.

"You're not Mom, Bell."

"I know." He stands, cracks his neck. "Come on, bedtime."

"You're not staying up?"

"I don't give a shit," he says. It's not convincing at all. "If it's there, it'll be there in the morning. Brush your teeth."

"I'm _twelve_ , I know how to get ready for bed."

"And yet you're not doing it, so--"

She wonders if he actually gets any sleep. She doesn't, keeps waking up from dreams about something going terribly wrong with Bell's soulmate, him not getting one, it being someone he hates, someone he'll never meet.

She makes it to seven a.m. before she runs into his room and jumps on him. He's asleep, but he went to bed _so early_ ; he's definitely gotten enough sleep.

"Ow, jesus," he mutters, and she ignores him.

"Who are you gonna marry?"

"Whom," he corrects. "You can tell because if I answered the question I'd say _I'm going to marry her_ instead of _I'm going to marry she_ , so--"

"Oh my god, Bell, shut _up_ ," she says, looking at his exposed skin with interest. If he has a soulmate, her name isn't above the covers. "Whom are you going to marry, fine!"

"SAT prep sucks, you can never start too early. And I don't know. It hadn't showed up yet when I went to sleep." He sits up, starts examining himself, and she does the same.

"I hope it's Echo, she's teaching me how to braid her hair all cool like hers."

He groans. "I hope it's no one we know, I'm not ready to be anyone's soulmate." There's a pause, and then he says, "Found out," hoarse. He really _didn't think_ he'd get one. She follows his gaze and sees it high on his left arm, curled around like a band. "Clarke Griffin."

They both take a second, because--it just hadn't occurred to her. Bell likes girls. And she thinks he would have told her if he didn't, or if he liked both. He's always talked about having a girl for a soulmate. As far as she knows, the alternative never crossed his mind.

"Huh," she says.

"I never thought about it being a guy," he says, slow.

"That _could_ be a girl. Maybe that's why it has the e at the end. To be girlier."

He huffs. "How many girls do you know named Clarke?"

"Okay, fine, it's a guy."

And, honestly, as long as the guy's okay with Bell being a guy too, she thinks that might be--good for him. Not that a girl wouldn't be, but--Bell could use someone to take care of him, and maybe it would be easier for him, to have a guy do it. She can imagine someone who would be good for Bell, some guy who didn't take himself too seriously, who was easy and affectionate and took the weight off her brother's shoulders sometimes.

Bell doesn't seem broken up about it either. A little confused, clearly something he'll have to get used to, but--more unexpected than bad.

It's high enough on his arm that all he has to do is pull on a t-shirt and it's hidden, and that's probably good too.

"Since we're awake we might as well have breakfast," he says, and by the time their mom wakes up, they're both on the couch playing video games.

"Happy birthday," she says. "Anything?"

"Yeah."

She nods, and doesn't ask what the name is. "Congratulations," she says instead, and Octavia sees his jaw twitch.

Maybe a guy's better; girls are complicated for Bell.

*

For the first semester he's at college, Octavia expects a mention of Clarke Griffin every time Bellamy calls or emails. She's so sure he's going to be in one of Bell's classes, living in his dorm. Somewhere close and easy. But every time she asks, he just says, "I'll tell you if I see him," and she learns to stop hoping. He tells her about other things, friends he's making, how his classes are going. When he starts dating his roommate, he tells her that too, and it sounds--fine. He seems happy, but he doesn't sound that upset when they break up, either.

Mostly, he seems to be doing okay.

Their main interaction is through care packages, which Bellamy thinks he needs to send her, even though he's the one who left home. She wishes she could say he's wrong, but Mom isn't great about remembering to buy groceries, or remembering to leave money so she can do it herself. Bell sends non-perishables, pasta and chicken broth and tuna and peanut butter, and cash and grocery lists too, recipes for meals she can cook herself, once she buys a few other things.

When she's fifteen, she gets a job of her own and starts sending some of the money back, buying her own food to send to him, too. They keep mailing the same twenty dollar bill back and forth for a year, until his twenty-third birthday, when she spends it to buy cake mix, frosting, and candles and sends those with the receipt.

The summer before her senior year of high school, he takes her around to visit schools all over New England, but she only applies to places in Boston. Bell's there, and he loves it, and if she goes somewhere else, he'd probably think about leaving, just for her. Besides, she likes it too, when she visits, and she gets a good financial aid package.

Her birthday is three days after Christmas, so Bell's home for it. He makes her a cake, like he always does, and gives her a university sweatshirt that's too big and absolutely perfect.

"And I assume you're staying up for your name."

The names tend to appear between midnight and noon, and most people have them by the time they wake up on their eighteenth birthday. Most of her friends stayed up for theirs, but Octavia really hasn't thought about it much. After all, Bellamy's had his name for six years and nothing's happened; the whole thing feels like kind of a rip off.

"I'm staying up all night," she declares anyway. "We're gonna eat this entire cake and play video games."

He snorts. "Don't you have friends or something?"

"We're doing stuff tomorrow." She looks at him. "You know I might not get one, right?"

"Of course you will," he says, gruff. "Don't say that."

"Just in case I don't, I want to come up with good spin on it before I see them."

"Uh huh." He turns on the Playstation. "So, what are we playing?"

Even though it's December, she's wearing a sports bra and shorts, the most skin exposure she can manage without feeling weird, and as soon as it hits midnight, she can't stop glancing her arms, her stomach, her legs. She's sitting on the floor in front of the TV so Bellamy can monitor her back too, and the whole thing feels ridiculous enough that it's a huge relief when Bellamy says, "Right shoulder," only a little after one. Besides, staying up all night always feels like a great idea in theory, but by two or three, she's usually starting to get bored.

"What does it say?"

There's a pause, and then he says, "Lincoln."

"Lincoln what?"

"That's it. Just Lincoln."

"What do you mean, _just Lincoln_?"

He hands her his phone, and there it is, her back with the stark letters, dark and clear, ending just before the band of her bra.

"Maybe there's something under the strap," she says. "Like--Li. Yu. One of those really short last names."

His fingers are gentle as he pushes it aside to check. "Nope. Just Lincoln."

"Why?"

"Maybe he's a rock star. One of those one-name guys. Like String. Or Prince. Maybe your soulmate is the entire city of Lincoln, Nebraska."

"Funny," she says, and he slides off the couch to wrap his arm around her.

"Sorry, O. I really have no idea. It's just his name right now, right? Maybe he changed it."

"There's no way I can google that," she mutters, and Bellamy snorts.

"Yeah, probably not. But you'll probably know him when you find him. How many guys can there be who are legally named _Lincoln_?"

She glances at him. "Do you ever look for Clarke?"

"No. I guess I could try, but--" He shrugs. "We're soulmates, right? He'll find me."

"If he doesn't soon, I'm going to find him," she mutters, and Bell laughs and squeezes her again.

"Yeah, yeah. Happy birthday, O."

She doesn't like not being able to see the mark; it feels like an itch she can't scratch, this thing that's on her but just out of reach. "Thanks," she says. And then, "Send me that picture."

*

Bellamy rents a U-Haul trailer and drives down for graduation, and they pack all her stuff into it the day after and go back to Boston together. The dorms don't open until August, but Bell and Miller said she could crash on their couch, and she feels better, getting out of Bennington. Getting away from her mother. The last few years have been--fine. But this feels like her _life_.

She gets a job at a coffee shop on campus, and that's good too. She starts getting to know some students who are around for the summer, and Bell and Miller refuse to take rent if she contributes for groceries, so she's getting some money saved too. Her social life is still a work in progress, but she has time to sort that out. Once she's in school, it should help. 

It's a Thursday in June when she meets Lincoln.

She's calling out drinks during the afternoon rush, and when Fox passes her one that says _Lincoln_ , she nearly chokes on the word. It's not a common name, but--it doesn't _have_ to be him.

Honestly, she hadn't thought much about meeting her soulmate yet. After all, Bell's twenty-four and still shows no sign of finding his, so she doesn't see any reason to think hers will come sooner. It would be really unfair, if she got her soulmate only six months after she found out about him.

"Lincoln!" she calls anyway, and the man who appears is--

Well, first of all he's a _man_. She's not sure exactly how old he is, but she'd put him in his mid-twenties, probably past college age. Closer to Bell's age than hers, without a doubt.

He's also _beyond_ hot. She doesn't like to try to dissect people's specific racial makeup, because she knows how much Bell hates it when people do it to him, but he's got dark skin and eyes, tattoos peeking out from under the sleeves of his t-shirt. His hair is one short stripe of black on the top of his head, and he should maybe be intimidating, but he looks--nice. Gentle.

She's romanticizing strangers. She has to stop.

"Is that your real name?" she asks him.

He blinks. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"Some people like to give fictional characters for fun. Maybe you're into presidents."

He takes a careful sip. "No, it's my real name."

"Your first name?"

"The name I use," he says, and Octavia's heart lodges in her throat.

He looks like he's about to leave, so she says, "I guess I shouldn't judge, my name's _Octavia_."

If she wasn't paying attention, she might miss his reaction, but it's there. His fingers tense on the cup and his eyes widen. She gets another drink and calls it out for Heather, and then turns her attention back to him.

"Octavia Blake," she clarifies.

"Ah."

"I get off at four, if you want to talk."

"Yes, we probably should." He offers her a small smile. "Nice to meet you, Octavia."

"Yeah. You too."

He goes to sit in the corner with his drink and his laptop, and Octavia watches him, when they aren't too swamped. He watches her too, from time to time, glancing up at the sound of her voice when she calls out orders.

At three-fifteen, it's quiet enough she could text Bellamy, but that seems--risky. She's pretty sure if she tells him her soulmate is here, he will storm out of work to come glower, and once he actually _sees_ Lincoln, it's going to be worse. He probably has nightmares about her soulmate looking exactly like this. He's probably going to _cry_.

She'll get more information before she breaks it to him. So she can give him the full scope for his horror.

Lincoln's still at the table when she finishes her shift, so she makes herself a latte and then goes to sit down across from him. He offers her a small, almost shy smile, at odds with his large frame and impressive muscles.

"Octavia Blake," he says.

"That's me."

"And you have--what do you have? Just Lincoln?"

"Just Lincoln."

He nods. "I changed it when I was seventeen. I hoped that would be early enough that it wouldn't cause problems, if I had a soulmate."

"I guess you didn't need to rush," she says without thinking, and he looks away.

"How old are you?" he asks.

"I turned eighteen in December. You?"

"I turned twenty-four in November."

"Wow."

"I'm sorry," he says, and she snorts.

"Why are you apologizing? You didn't do anything." She smiles. "You didn't pick when you were born, right?"

He returns the smile, still hesitant, but--nice. He has a nice smile. "No, I didn't."

"And neither did I, so--blame our parents. That always works for me."

"Oh?"

"My mom's kind of--yeah. Whatever." She cocks her head at him. "So, _Lincoln_. Why that?"

"It was my mother's maiden name. I was named after my father. He--wasn't a good man. I didn't want to be his anymore. Not any of me."

She swallows. "My mom did that too. My dad's last name was--I don't even remember. We left when I was a baby. She changed her last name as soon as she could. Hers and Bell's."

"Bell?" he asks.

"My big brother, Bellamy. Aurora and Bellamy are pretty uncommon first names, and I think her last name was too, so I guess--she didn't want him to be able to find us. Blake is nice and anonymous."

"I'm sorry you had to go through that."

She shrugs. "It was before I was born. I've always been a Blake."

"Ah." They're quiet for a minute, but he speaks up before she's figured anything out. "Are you starting college in the fall?"

"Yeah, but--here. I'm not going anywhere. I was really eager to be in the city, that's why I came. I'm living on my brother's couch for the summer, until the dorms open."

As soon as she says it, she regrets it, because Lincoln's probably already too old to live on someone's couch for any period of time. But he doesn't look particularly judgmental.

"How old is your brother?"

"Twenty-four," she says, and refrains from adding, _your age_. It's weird enough without saying it. Not that dating someone Bellamy's age is out of the question or anything, but--it's not what she was expecting. "What do you do?"

"I'm a teacher. Elementary school art. So I'm on vacation right now."

It's unexpectedly adorable, and she grins. "Do they call you Mr. Lincoln?"

"They do."

"Is it weird not having a last name?"

He laughs, and it's as soft as his smile. He's quiet, for someone so big. "It's been seven years. I'm used to it."

"But why did you decide not to?"

"Because I couldn't come up with one I liked." But he looks off into the distance, like he's remembering something, so she doesn't press. "I wanted to feel like someone else. I wanted to feel--completely different."

"Did it work?"

"It did."

She wets her lips. "It must suck, if you do something like that after your soulmate already gets your name. You'd always have to see it on them."

"That was how I convinced the judge. I hope you didn't want to change yours."

"No," she says. "I love my name."

"It's pretty," he says. He wets his lips, hesitates and then admits, "I don't know what to do."

"About what?"

"You."

"Get to know me," she offers, and he smiles.

"I guess that's where we start."

*

"Don't freak out, but my soulmate is twenty-four and could bench press you."

Bellamy hits his head on the fridge as he jerks up. "Jesus fucking Christ, what?"

"Lincoln. He really has only one name, he teaches elementary school art, he's like ninety-five percent muscle, and he's your age."

"Fuck," he says, which was about what she expected.

"We're getting to know each other."

He rubs his jaw. "Fuck."

"He seems nice."

"He seems twenty-four."

"You haven't even met him."

"Sorry, does he not seem twenty-four? Is he really immature?"

"Would that help?"

"No." He sighs. "That's a big age difference."

"He'll be twenty-five in November," she says.

"Awesome. He's actually _older_ than I am."

"I'm trying to give you all the bad news at once. To get it out of the way."

"You just met him. You don't know all the bad news. That's part of the problem."

"That's why I get to know him. I'm not planning to run away with him or anything. I know how bad it was with--"

"No," he snaps, harsher than she's ever heard. "You don't know how bad it was. Fuck, I barely got it, I was so young. She wanted to make it work so bad, and he was--" He shakes his head. "Just because he's your soulmate doesn't mean he can't take advantage of you."

"I know! What do you want me to do? Not talk to him? Pretend he doesn't exist for five years?"

"No. Fuck, that's not--" He sighs, rubs has face, and offers her a sheepish smile. "I want him to suggest that. He should be the mature one."

"You're ridiculous."

"Yeah." He sighs. "It's not like I'm not happy for you. I'd just be happier if he was, like, twenty. Or you were older. You haven't even started college yet."

"When your soulmate is like ten years younger than you I'm going to laugh," she mutters, and he puts his arm around her.

"This is going to be suck for me, isn't it?"

"Oh, yeah. No question."

*

If Bellamy would just get his head out of his ass, he'd probably realize Lincoln was exactly what he wanted him to be, but, in all honesty, Bellamy has a historic difficulty getting his head out of his ass. Part of Octavia wants it to be about _his_ soulmate, that he's bitter that she found hers first, but, from what she can tell, Bellamy isn't really looking, and isn't really worried about it either.

Instead, he's putting all his worry into her and Lincoln, which is _stupid_ , because Octavia's not even convinced Lincoln likes her yet.

Well, okay, obviously he likes her. They hang out on Sunday nights, as a matter of course, but it's honestly completely platonic. Bellamy insists on it being at the apartment the first time, and it's super awkward, but all they do is chat and hang out. That's all they _ever_ do. And Octavia likes that, of course. Lincoln is smart and interesting, great to talk to, and she enjoys spending time with him.

It's just that she feels a little like she's being--sister-zoned. And she doesn't really want that. Platonic soulmates exist, but she doesn't want to be this girl Lincoln enjoys hanging out with while he has a whole other life. Even if she doesn't have any idea how to fit into his real life. She might be his soulmate, but he probably doesn't want to introduce her to his friends. It would be creepy. Even if he does want her like that, which, again, he might not.

The whole thing makes her head hurt.

She makes it to September before she asks, which as far as she's concerned is a lot of restraint. She's trying to be _cool_. But--he's her soulmate. That's supposed to mean something.

"What are we doing?" she asks.

He's working on lesson plans, which is pretty normal, and she's failing to concentrate on her reading because she wants to make out. Which is also pretty normal, and half the problem.

He looks up, smiling. "What do you mean?"

She sighs. "I really like hanging out with you."

"I like hanging out with you too." His mouth twitches. "Why do I feel like this is going somewhere bad?"

"It's not, I just--I _like you_ ," she huffs. "And--"

It's stupid, but she kisses him anyway, because she doesn't want to actually say what she's feeling. And, okay, that's a good sign she shouldn't be doing it, but kissing gets the point across, and she gets to kiss him. 

He doesn't push her away, but he doesn't return the kiss, and she's not even surprised. She didn't really expect him to, but--it would have been nice.

"Octavia," he starts, and she looks away.

"I know."

"Do you?" He shifts closer, takes her hand in his. "You're not the only one with a bad family history. Not that--I don't think I'd need personal experience to know that I'm too old for this to be a good idea right now."

"Lincoln--"

"My mother was sixteen when she met my father," he says. "And he said he was her soulmate. When she turned eighteen, she had another name, and he told her--that he forgave her. That it wasn't her fault, and he wouldn't abandon her."

"How old was he?"

"Thirties," he says. "She wasn't even his soulmate. He stalked her, found out her name and got a tattoo, and she just--" 

"That's not what's happening here."

"No, it's not. But--she was so young when she met him, she didn't get to have a life without him. I want to be a part of your life, Octavia. But I don't want to be your entire world. I don't want you to--you're a freshman in college. You should be meeting new people. Going on dates. You should know what you want before you let some name on your back make up your mind."

"That's not why I like you," she says.

"I know." He strokes his thumb against her wrist. "We have plenty of time. You don't have to rush into this."

"I want to."

He laughs. "That doesn't surprise me. But--I can't. Do you understand?"

"I understand," she says, and she thinks she does. But she can't help asking, "You want to?"

"Hm?"

"You want to be my soulmate."

"Oh." He squeezes her fingers. "Yes. I--yes. I'm very glad you're my soulmate, Octavia."

"And someday, we can--"

He leans in to press his mouth against hers for a second, just a ghost of a kiss. Just enough. "I hope so."

*

The thing about meeting other people is that she just compares them to Lincoln, and no one else measures up. No one else _could_ measure up, because he's her soulmate. 

It doesn't help that they start hanging out with Miller and his soulmate, because they're so good together, and Octavia wants that for herself. It's stupid she doesn't _have that_ for herself, because Lincoln is right there. And she gets that the soulmate thing has gone wrong for people, but--she doesn't think it could go wrong for her like that. Her mom didn't have anyone, and she thinks Lincoln's mom didn't either. But Octavia has Bellamy, and Miller, and all sorts of new college friends. And given how paranoid Bell is and how overprotective he and Miller both are, she's pretty sure if Lincoln stepped a foot out of line, they'd be all over it. Even if he's probably bigger than both of them put together.

But he won't even kiss her. And she still can't really blame him. He's a good guy. It's one of the thing she _likes_ about him.

Miller texts her on Friday and tells her that game night is canceled, so she and Lincoln watch a movie instead, and she pretends to fall asleep on him, just to be close.

He carries her to his bed when it's done, kisses her forehead, and goes to sleep on his couch. He's still there when she leaves to go shower and change before work, and she can't help watching him for a minute. Part of her just wants to crawl in next to him and stay. 

She's on her way into the coffee shop when Bellamy calls to say, "So, uh--I met Clarke."

Octavia stops in her tracks, but just for a second. She has to go to work. "What? When?"

"Last night. Miller and Monty set us up."

"I can't believe they didn't tell me! What's he like? What does he do?"

"Uh. Junior in college. Girl."

She stops again. "Girl?"

"Girl." He pauses. "I'm an idiot."

"What did you do?"

"I still think Lincoln is too old for you," he says, on a huff. "But--I had no idea it would feel like this."

Part of her wants to be pissed. Junior in college is at least three years younger than Bell, probably _four_ , and she could definitely try to tell him that he's too old for her. But--he sounds so overwhelmed. And all she's wanted since he turned eighteen was for him to meet his soulmate and be happy.

If he keeps on being a dick about Lincoln, though, she's definitely going to kick his ass.

"When can I meet her? Is she gonna be there when I'm done with work?"

"Uh, I think so? She's--yeah."

"Oh my god, did she sleep over? Bell!"

"She didn't--not like you think. She needed a hug."

Octavia frowns. "She needed a hug?"

"What?" he asks. 

"Don't tell me she's a wreck."

"No, she's fine. Just--she had a rough year. So be nice, okay? She's awesome, I'm already crazy about her."

"You know who else is awesome? Lincoln."

"I know. Go to work, O. Come over after."

Lincoln comes in the afternoon, like he usually does, and Octavia is extremely grateful that it's dead. She really needs to talk to him.

"Okay, I was planning to apologize for passing out on you, but Bellamy met his soulmate so that's basically all I've been able to think about all day."

He laughs. "Congratulations. How is he?"

"I haven't met her yet, but apparently Clarke is a girl's name. Which I totally guessed when I was twelve, so I'm winning. And she's like four years younger than him, which I'm not bringing up yet, but I've got it in my back pocket."

"Isn't that the same difference and Miller and his soulmate?" Lincoln asks. He smiles. "I think it's always going to be different. You're his sister. He can't be completely rational about you."

"Don't be on his side. He's not on your side."

"I think he actually is," Lincoln says. "I don't think either of us think I should be dating you right now."

"He's going to date his soulmate. She slept over last night. It's not fair."

"I'm willing to promise I'll sleep over at some point," he says. "Just not yet."

"I know. And I'm happy for him. But--what if she's not good for him?"

"Then we'll make sure she doesn't get to hurt him," Lincoln says, firm, and her heart skips a beat.

"Really?"

"I promise."

*

Clarke comes to Octavia's dorm on Tuesday and says, "So, I assume you want to give me a lecture about your brother."

It's an interesting question. Bell is fucking _gone_ , hook, line, and sinker, completely lost. She's pretty sure he'd marry Clarke, like, tomorrow, and she can't help worrying about that, because Clarke--

But that's the thing. Clarke actually seems just as crazy about him, just a little more skittish. She's trying to take it slow, but she likes Bell so much it keeps spilling out. So--Octavia figures that's fine. If she wasn't a little bit ridiculous, she wouldn't be his soulmate.

"Do you like him?"

"Yeah."

"You know he's--you can't just expect him to take care of you all the time. He's been taking care of people his whole life. He deserves--"

"I want to take care of him too," Clarke says. She ducks her head. "I want to make him happy. He's--yeah. Whatever you're thinking, that's not what I want."

She nods. "Okay, then--yeah. I reserve the right to give you a lecture later. For now, just tell him you think he's being a dumbass about Lincoln."

"He is, kind of. But I think that's more on Lincoln, right? It's not like Bellamy is sleeping outside your door with a shotgun to keep him out."

"Yeah."

"So--yeah. Good luck with that."

It's not much, but it feels like a decent start. "Yeah. Thanks."

*

Lincoln doesn't like to talk about his family--the most he's ever said at one time about them was when he was telling her about his mother, and even though she's curious, she doesn't want to pry. Octavia likes talking about her family because she's almost a full degree of separation away from what happened. Her father was awful, but she wasn't born yet. Her mother was bad, but she had Bellamy, a shield between her and the worst parts of her own life. All of these things happened around without really hurting her, like water over rocks. She's not undamaged, but--it's not like it was for Bell, she knows.

And it's not like it was for Lincoln.

"What are you doing for Thanksgiving?" she asks. It's Sunday, and she's sitting on his couch with her head in his lap while he plays with her hair. It's not really in the same universe as platonic, but she's not going to mention that. Lincoln definitely knows.

"I'll spend it with Indra."

"Your foster mom," Octavia supplies. 

"It always feels strange to call her that. She was only twenty-seven when she took me in. Too young to be my mother."

"You were fourteen, right?"

She can hear the smile in his voice. "You could just ask me, Octavia."

"I thought you'd tell me when you wanted me to know." She wets her lips, opens her eyes to look at him. "Your mom's dead, right?"

"She is."

"And your dad killed her."

He never said that part; she just guessed.

"He claimed it was an accident. I even believe him. I don't think he meant to kill her. But she was trying to leave him, and when he tried to stop us--" He rubs his thumb against her collarbone. "My testimony was enough to convict him, especially when the prosecution was able to prove he'd gotten the tattoo as part of a plot to trick her into marriage. Even without a manslaughter charge, that's quite an offense. Add the abuse and--he should be in locked up for a long time."

"I'm so sorry."

"I wish I could have done something for my mother. And I wish my father was dead. But--I don't think he'll ever get out of prison. And I don't think he'll find me if he does."

"Not with your cool, single name. Bell thought you were a rock star."

He laughs. "Sorry to disappoint."

"Not yet." She finds his hand and squeezes it. "So, you can come for Thanksgiving if you want. I don't want to not invite you. But there's no pressure. We're not even dating. You shouldn't have to put up with my mother." She pauses. "And my brother, honestly."

"I put up with your brother all the time."

"Yeah, but Clarke's not coming back with us, so he'll probably be a mopey wreck."

"That might be amusing." He squeezes her fingers. "Thanksgiving is a big deal at Indra's. It's when we all try to make it back. I thought--if you wanted me, I could come for Christmas."

"Of course I want you," she says, and he leans down to press his lips against hers, soft. He doesn't do it often, and every time he does, she just wants to pull him back.

He doesn't go far this time, just leans over, watching her. "Are you--do you ever date?" he asks.

"What?"

"Are you dating other people?"

They haven't talked about it in a while. Lincoln used to ask, in an overly casual way, if she was meeting anyone at school, and when she only talked about new _friends_ , he'd purse his lips and tell her he didn't mind, if she wanted to. And she didn't know what to say, because she didn't want to hear _he_ wanted to. So she usually just rolls her eyes and can't help feeling like--maybe she _is_ too young.

"No," she says. "No one since I met you."

His mouth tugs into a smile. "Good. Neither have I."

*

Octavia turns nineteen three days after Christmas and it doesn't feel any different from any other birthdays. Her mom is working, because her mom is working, and Bellamy is still in Oregon, so it's just her and Lincoln. Lincoln cooks dinner and she bakes her own cake, and Bell and Clarke Skype so Bell can watch her open the present he mailed her. She doesn't know why he gave her a Christmas present and insisted on mailing the birthday one, but, well--he's always kind of a weirdo. This isn't news.

Lincoln's birthday was last month, and there's a part of her that's relieved to just be six years younger than him again, but mostly she can't help feeling like nineteen and twenty-five doesn't really sound much better than eighteen and twenty-four. Twenty and twenty-six, maybe. Thirty and thirty-six is going to be fine, if they get there.

Lincoln seems quiet too, contemplative, and she can't help worrying that he was thinking the same thing she was, that--nineteen would feel different. That it would be like they cleared some hurdle, and suddenly everything would be fine. 

They snuggle on the couch and watch a movie, but Lincoln is clearly distracted. Part of her wants to ignore it, just let it go, pretend she didn't notice. Part of her doesn't want to have this conversation.

But if she wants to be a good soulmate to him, she needs to grow up.

She waits until they're getting ready for bed. They are sharing, and that's been--it hasn't been like Clarke thought, some comedy of misunderstandings where they roll together in the night and are embarrassed in the morning.

He holds her while they go to sleep, and he's still holding her when they wake up, and she wants that forever, _now_. She can't breath sometimes with wanting it.

Once he's curled around her, she says, "What's wrong?"

"What?"

She pokes his ribs. "You've been weird tonight. Tell me what's wrong."

There's a long pause, and then he lets out a breath. "This is--don't think any of this is your fault. But I've been thinking--I don't trust myself around you. And I hate that I can't."

She frowns. "What do you mean?"

His thumb strokes her shoulder. "I assumed this would be easy, that--our life experiences would be different enough, I wouldn't be interested in a relationship with you for a while. That I wouldn't have trouble with it. But--I do. And it makes me feel as if I'm-- _it's your fault that I feel this way_ is classic abuse. Like I can't help myself. I don't want you to think that's what I'm saying."

She swallows. "I know it's not."

It's not as if she hasn't felt the unbalance of the two of them. But it always felt unfair to her, rather than painful. And part of her did assume it was easy for him. That he cared for her, but--not like she wanted him to. It made sense to her, that he wouldn't.

"I thought when I turned nineteen it would feel--different," she admits. "But I guess age really is just a number." She closes her eyes and burrows closer. "I can tell you I'm ready, but it's not like--if I were you I wouldn't know how to feel sure about it either."

"I'm glad you understand," he says, and it's still weird that she does.

There's a reason she doesn't have these conversations more.

"I feel like I don't take it seriously enough," she admits. "Like--I get it. I do. But it still feels like we're _going to_ , and we both know, so why--"

"I don't know how to let myself," says Lincoln, and he tugs her closer in the dark. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. You're not doing anything wrong." She swallows, kisses his collarbone. The idea hits suddenly, and she can't believe it when she says, "You should talk to Bell."

He makes a sound like he's choking; she has to smile. "To _Bellamy_?"

"Yeah. I get it, but I can't help. If anyone can tell you when you're morally okay dating me, it's Bell. I might not get laid until I'm thirty, but--if you want to feel like you're doing the right thing, then you can wait for his blessing."

There's a long pause. "Thirty seems optimistic."

"If we get to twenty-five, maybe appeal with Clarke."

"That's what soulmates are for, I assume." He tugs her closer, kisses her hair. "Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me. Soulmates are for this too."

"That too. Happy birthday."

She sinks into him. This could be enough. For as long as he needs. "Thanks."

*

"Is it weird that I think Bell's going to talk him into it?"

Clarke is painting her nails with the kind of intense concentration most people reserve for life-or-death situations, and it makes her smile. She and Bell are so good together.

"It is, but I think you're right. Not, like--Bellamy disapproves on principle, I guess? But his only actual argument is _you're old_ and I think once Lincoln agrees with him he won't know what to do other than have a real conversation. At which point, you know--Lincoln is a good guy who really wants to do right by you, and Bellamy knows it, so once they actually start talking it's probably all over."

"Yeah." She leans back and closes her eyes. "What do you think it was like before soulmates?"

It's only been about a hundred years, since it happened. There are people around whose parents and grandparents never knew if they were with the right person. Who never worried about it at all.

"I don't know. I used to think about it a lot, when my parents were breaking up. If it would have been better if my mom just--met a guy and had an affair. Or if she wouldn't have done it, if there wasn't always a part of her that thought my dad wasn't the guy she was supposed to be with." She shrugs. "I don't know. I think it would have taken me and Bellamy a lot longer, if we didn't know."

"Yeah?"

She looks up from her toes with a grin. "Think about it. We probably would have just run into each other, and I would have thought he was hot and he would have thought I was hot, but we're both emotionally stunted, so--I see him starting a fight about nothing, me taking the bait, and us running into each other every few months and getting in stupid arguments every time. Probably Monty and Miller would have figured it out first, we'd be forced into the same social circle, and eventually--"

Octavia has to laugh. "You've put a lot of thought into this."

"Not a lot, just--I think everyone wonders." Her fingers trace the fabric of her jeans over Bellamy's name, absent. It makes Octavia jealous sometimes, that she can't do the same thing so unconsciously. "Or maybe I'm just weird."

"I can't decide if it would be easier or not. I would have just--" She chokes on the words. She would have called his drink, and he would have _left_.

"You would have found him again," Clarke promises her.

"He probably wouldn't even have existed," she admits. If there weren't soulmates, maybe his dad wouldn't have been able to trick his mom.

Or maybe he would have found another way.

"But he does. And not even your brother is stubborn enough to think you two don't belong together. So--" She smiles. "We get to be sure. So that's cool."

"Yeah," Octavia agrees, and takes off her socks, wiggling her toes in Clarke's direction. "Do me next."

She's almost done when Bell and Lincoln get back, and Bell plops down on the floor next to Clarke without hesitation, kisses her shoulder. "Hey."

"Hey. I can do you when I'm done with Octavia, if you want." She glances up. "You too, Lincoln."

Lincoln hovers for another few seconds, unsure, and then he sits on the floor next to Octavia, close. So it couldn't have gone _badly_. "What colors do you have?"

Clarke grins. "Basically _all_ the colors. I'm an artist too."

Bellamy gets jungle animals on his toes, because he's a dork, and Lincoln gets flowers, because flowers are pretty. Octavia leans against him, trying to knock out her philosophy homework, and finds it's easy to not worry at all. Maybe he's not ready to be her boyfriend yet, but--he's always going to be _hers_.

After, they order pizza and watch a movie. Clarke passes out in about half an hour, drooling on Bell's shoulder, so when it ends he just gathers her up to take her to bed.

"You guys can find your way home, right?" he asks. "Unless you want the couch."

Octavia has to smile. "I think we know the way, Bell."

"Cool. Have a good night."

She slides her hand into Lincoln's outside, squeezes once. "So, it went okay?"

"I think so. We started off disagreeing, but we got through it."

"Really? Clarke thought you'd agree you were too old for me and he wouldn't know what to do."

"No. He said he wished we'd met in five years, and I--" He strokes his thumb against hers. "I can't bring myself to be upset that I know you now. I wouldn't want to wait for you to be a part of my life." He pauses, but just for a few seconds. Which is good, because Octavia finds herself unable to speak. "He didn't really know what to do with that either. He certainly didn't have any kind of counter-argument."

Octavia smiles. "I'm with you. I wouldn't want to wait."

"I know." He clears his throat. "I told him my family history made me hesitant, and he didn't know anything about it."

"About what?"

"My family." She frowns at him, and he smiles. "I thought you would have told him. Just to get him on my side."

"No, I haven't told anyone. It's--private. It's not my story." She can't help asking. "Did it get him on your side?"

"I've always maintained we were on the same side. But it did give him some understanding, I think. Of why I might--I don't think he understood I was actually reluctant, and not just waiting for appearances' sake."

"I wasn't always sure about that either," she admits. "Not for _appearances_ , but--I didn't really get it."

"I had trouble articulating it myself."

"So, what did Bell say?"

"That he was amazed you really suggested asking for his blessing."

"Just to make you feel better!"

"He said he's glad I'm your soulmate, and that he trusts me with you," Lincoln admits, soft. A smile tugs at his face. "And then he felt bad for acting as if it was his decision, even though it was your idea to ask for his advice in the first place. Half the time it felt like he was arguing with himself."

"That's what Clarke thought might happen, yeah." She squeezes his fingers. "I'm not--I don't want to be shallow or disrespect your feelings, but I'd like to get laid. Am I going to start getting laid?"

He laughs. "I'd like to get laid too." But there's still a worryingly long pause before he asks, "Do you want to come home with me tonight?"

"Wow," she teases. "I thought you'd never ask."

*

Octavia has never actually seen her name on Lincoln. She knew where it was, on his chest, but in the interests of remaining as platonic as possible (she assumes), Lincoln has always carefully worn a shirt around her. Which, now that she's seen him naked, was a good idea, because she thought he was hot _before_ she saw all his muscles.

But she'd been so distracted with the hot part last night that she hadn't really gotten to take a look at all his tattoos. 

She'd seen the ones on his shoulders peeking out from under his shirts, the swirling black lines of ink that wove around his arms, but it's different, getting the full picture. It's all the same tattoo, waves crashing over his shoulders, curling around his neck, and sliding down his chest, circling--her name.

The waves keep a respectful distance, as if they don't want to wash it off, and Octavia can't stop staring. He told her where it was, on his right pectoral, and it wasn't like she didn't believe him, but it's so different, really _seeing it_.

She remembers the way Bellamy likes to sit with his hand curled around Clarke's thigh and gets it all at once. The reality of it is staggering.

"I like that they match," Lincoln says.

She blinks up at him; his early-morning smile is even softer. "What?"

He turns her around and tugs her against back his chest. "When I hold you like this," he murmurs. "My name is against yours. I like that."

Octavia's always been vaguely resentful about the positioning of her name, because she can't see it, and she has to work pretty hard to figure out if any given outfit shows it without help. But now she can feel the heat of his body behind hers, the press of their skin.

"I like that too," she says. "How are your morals?"

"Relatively intact. Yours?"

"As good as they've ever been."

He kisses her shoulder. "That's a shame. I was hoping for at least some minor improvement."

"No way," she says, laughing. "I'm perfect just the way I am."

He slides his mouth up her neck to her jaw, and she has to wonder if he's as relieved at being able to touch her as much as he wants as she is relieved that he wants to touch her so much. She could happily live in a world where she wakes up like this every morning. Or at least most of them.

"I can't believe I forgot," he says, amused. "I think we should keep doing this," he adds, and she smiles.

"Wow, we must be soulmates. I was thinking the same thing."

**Author's Note:**

> I am aware I kind of dropped "soulmate marks have not always been a thing" into this and breezed past it, which is primarily because, one, this was always sort of one of my assumptions in this verse (which is why there's some sort of distrust/uncertainty about it from various characters, and also why homophobia is still culturally ingrained when people have same-sex soulmates), and, two, because I figured it was far enough in the past (circa 1900) that none of the characters really think of it as anything but "how the world is." But I felt kinda bad being like lol btw about it; mostly I am lol btw about it because it's not really what the story I wanted to write is about, it's just a feature of the world I wanted to write in. Anyway! I'm glad we had this talk.


End file.
